


The Dúnedan and The Prince

by MsAuthoress



Series: The Dúnedan and The Prince [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 20:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12154041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsAuthoress/pseuds/MsAuthoress
Summary: Per request by Gandalf the Grey, you join the Company to the Lonely Mountains to reclaim Erebor from the dragon Smaug. Unfortunately, you don’t get along with Thorin quite well…





	The Dúnedan and The Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is a 12 part series, as well in connection to a few future one-shots. I am very excited to share this with you, and hope you will enjoy it. I am still new to writing Thorin but I am studying him as much as I can to understand him, his personality, and what he would do and say, and behave. Feedback would be very much appreciated. ^_^ Another note, is that for a short time the Reader will be called as 'Aradel' for a short time before Y/N comes in. This is just part of the storyline, but it is only for a brief time.
> 
> Enjoy!

The crisp Autumn air felt refreshing on your lungs. A breeze swept through, billowing your dark hair around your face, and you had to pull the green leather hood over your head to shield away from the wind. Your feet carried you up the stone trail as if you knew the way, though it was unfamiliar. At a quick glance you assessed they have never known the dangers of the world. As it should be, you thought. Shaking your head, you returned your attention to the road. It was not long before you came to one Hobbit home in particular, the rune symbol etched on the door a confirmation of your destination. You raised a hand and knocked three times, and waited. The wait was very brief before the door opened, revealing Gandalf himself. Standing next to him was a Hobbit, craning his head to look up at you in mild surprise.

"Ah," Gandalf said, pleased. "You are here."

“I suppose that was your intention all along.” Your response incited a chuckle from the Wizard.

Gandalf wordlessly stepped aside, silently inviting you inside. You graciously accepted and stepped inside, offering a slight nod to the Hobbit as you passed. Behind you the door closed and you were in the process of removing your cloak when you raised your head and saw your way was blocked by someone else. It took little effort to deduce he was a Dwarf; his height and braids could not be mistaken. He was tall for his kin, and wore a black tunic underneath a fur coat draped over his body. His face was akin to stone as stern eyes scanned your body from head to toe. Raising your chin, you returned his gaze. It did not appear to bother him the slightest.

Gandalf broke the silence by clearing his throat, as if to relieve the tension in the air. "I believe an introduction is in order. Thorin, this is Aradel, the Woman I spoke to you about. Aradel, this is Thorin Oakenshield."

When Gandalf had spoken to you about the Dwarven prince, heir to Erebor, you had envisioned him shorter and much less handsome than he appeared. This was a surprise to even a guarded Woman such as yourself, though not unpleasant. "The heir to the throne under the mountain."

"Indeed," Gandalf answered.

“Where are my manners?” With a hand over your heart, you bowed deeply. Just as you were rising to full height, you saw Thorin returning the gesture with a nod of his head. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Much to your surprise, he offered his hand. Your hesitance was brief before you slipped your hand in his with the intention to shake it, only for your hand to be brought to his lips. He pressed a lingering kiss on your knuckles, his eyes never once leaving yours, deeply boring into your own; dark and mysterious. "The pleasure is all mine," Thorin said, and released your hand.

Your lips twitched ever so slightly. Before you had the chance to give a proper response, Gandalf again intervened. “Shall we move to the dining area? The others are waiting.”

You frowned. "Others? How many are there?"

"Thirteen," Thorin said calmly. Your eyebrows shot up. He offered no response and merely turned around, and disappeared in the hall.

If the sheepish smile from Gandalf was of any indication, it was that this was normal behavior for the Dwarf. You sighed and rolled your shoulders as you mentally prepared yourself for what was to come, and followed Gandalf into aforementioned dining area. Loud chatter met your ears immediately, and you had to wonder how thirteen Dwarves could fit in such a small home. A deadly silence filled the air as soon as you stepped inside, curious, wide eyes staring unblinking in your direction. Your eyes shifted again to Gandalf who merely glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, his lips curling into a slight smile. That is when you knew your presence had not been expected.

Withholding a sigh, you ignored the stares and took a seat at the far end of the table, soon joined by Gandalf. No one dared to speak. The silence was nearly deafening but it was the stares that brought you the most discomfort. Thorin was the first to break the uncomfortable silence. “Gandalf tells me you have impressive skills in the wilderness.” 

“Did he now?” You flickered your eyes to the Wizard, arching an eyebrow. “I am flattered.”

“He also tells me you are well educated in the lore,” Thorin continued.

“This is true. I have spent nearly half my life studying Middle-earth’s history.”

Thorin was satisfied by your answer. He reached inside his tunic and withdrew a parchment, and unfolding it, he placed it in front of you. “Do you know what this is, then?”

Tilting your head, you gazed down at the parchment. You immediately recognized it, though the text you could not read, for it was written in a language you did not know. “Erebor,” you murmured, looking up at Thorin. “What purpose do you have with this place?”

Thorin’s eyes hardened as he retrieved the map and stuffed it back inside his tunic. “I asked if you know what this map is, not if you understood we have a purpose.”

“Thorin…” Gandalf warned but was ignored.

“Yes,” you replied simply, the slightest hint of irritation in your tone. “I am familiar with Erebor.”

“And its history, I presume?”

“What about it?”

Thorin did not answer. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him on the table. Your patience wearing thin, you turned to Gandalf. “You came to me and said there was a matter of importance that needed my assistance. I am here and I am playing games with a child. Tell me what this is all about or I am leaving.”

Gandalf opened his mouth to answer, only to be interrupted by Thorin as he slowly rose from his seat, shooting you a glare. “You must forgive my hesitance, Woman,” he spat, “I know nothing of you, save that you are seemingly a friend to Gandalf. I knew nothing of your arrival and now I am expected to openly share once more the secret Quest my kin and I are trying to keep safe? You are an outsider to me.”

“And you are an outsider to me.” You rose so quickly from your seat the chair was pushed back. “And the lands that which I seek to protect. I am here because Gandalf asked me to be here. That should be more than enough for you. If not, then perhaps if you grasp your ears firmly and pull, and you might just able to remove your head out of your rear.”

Gandalf banged his staff loudly on the floor. “Enough!” he said firmly. “Arguing amongst ourselves is of no help to us.” Sighing, he placed a hand on your shoulder. “Thorin and his kin are seeking to return to Erebor so that they may reclaim their home.”

“Reclaim Erebor? That is madness!”

Thorin looked as if you had insulted his lineage. “Let us take this somewhere private?” he said through gritted teeth.

Albeit begrudged, you followed them into the hall and away from prying ears. “You must understand,” Thorin began in a low voice, “We have been wanderers of the wilderness for decades, our home taken from us and the memory seared into our thoughts. The time has come for Erebor to be reclaimed and I bear the key to do so. There is no choice for me and no amount of council will deter me from that path.”

You nodded your head slowly in acknowledgement. “I understand. You wish to return home, reclaim what you lost. I am no stranger to what befell Erebor those years ago. You need not educate me. And if it is the path you must take, then take it, but it does not answer my question. Why am I needed? Can you not guide them yourself, Gandalf?”

“Yes…and no,” Gandalf answered. “While it is true I can lead the Company without difficulty, I am not so skilled in knowing every corner and smell that is in the wilderness, nor can I identify tracks the way you can.” He smiled when you shook your head in argument. “You are one of the very few who can determine whether danger draws near before anyone else. An additional sword bearer would not be unwise either. Should we find ourselves in trouble, we would have an equal number against our enemy.”   
Gandalf gave Thorin a look. “And that is why she would be most useful to our company.”

“And who is to say I wish to help?” you retorted. “I have not given my answer.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. His eyes scanned your body. “Judging by the blood on your clothing, you came to great lengths to come here, it would seem.”

“It’s not my blood.” You had said it so calmly that it made Thorin’s other eyebrow rise.

“That proves my point.”  
You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt your anger rise. “With all due respect—”

“You have spent most of your years wasting away into nothingness,” Gandalf interrupted, his voice sharp like a knife. “Wandering and fighting, shunned by your own kin. You are dedicated to protecting the Shire’s borders, and indeed you have done well.” His face softened. “But you are not welcomed here, not even by your own people. Do you not think you should be where your skills are needed?”

You did not answer, for you had no words to give. Thorin was staring at you again, though he was more curious than trying to assess. You sighed heavily, hanging your head. “Very well,” you said quietly after a moment. “I will help.”

Gandalf was pleased with your answer. Thorin, however, betrayed no knowledge how he felt. He turned to the Wizard, narrowing his eyes as he spoke in a low voice but not low enough where you could not hear him. “I hope you are right about her.” He looked at you once last time before returning to his kin.

“I am keeping my distance from him,” you murmured.

Gandalf chuckled. “I would expect no less from you.”

The hour passed quietly, the only sound being the low voices belonging to the Dwarves. You chose to separate yourself from them, having already grown weary of their stubborn kin. Specifically their leader. Instead, you sat quietly in one of Bilbo’s recliners in the den near the window. You did not need to strain your ears to know the Dwarves were holding a council, the years as a Ranger in the harsh wilderness having gifted you with excellent hearing. Many protested your company, refusing to have a Woman among them and were soon arguing amongst themselves. “Enough!” Thorin’s voice sharply rang in the air, making even you jump. “It has been advised through wise council that she would be a good addition to our Company, and so she is coming. That is final.”  
No more was said after that. A hushed silence filled the entire home that even the tree branches dancing with the wind sounded loud. So immersed in your thoughts you did not notice the Dwarves entering the room, nor did you pay much attention to the burning of your skin as you sensed someone was watching. You knew it was Thorin; you could feel his gaze, sharp and surly as earlier. It was not until a grey-haired Dwarf stood before you that you were pulled from your reverie.

He smiled warmly at you, his eyes kind and full of light. In his hands he held a mug, which he offered. “You look like you could use a drink.”

A small smile graced your lips as you gingerly accepted the mug, bowing your head. “You are most kind. Who might you be called so I can thank you properly?”

“Balin.” He bowed. “At your service.”

“Thank you for the drink, Balin. I am Aradel,” you said, inclining your body forward in a slight bow. “At your service.”

Balin smiled, crossing his arms behind his back. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Aradel. It is my understanding you will be journeying with us.”

“Yes, it would appear so. Do you not find that suitable?”

“Ah. You heard.” Balin chuckled, shaking his head. “It is more hesitation than anything else, lass. Our own kin has very few females as it were. I would not take their words heavily.”

“I don’t. I am aware of my strengths and capability.” Your eyes shifted to Thorin. He stood by the mantle with his back turned to you. “It would seem, however, others lack the ability.”

Balin was quick to catch on. “I would not let him bother you. Thorin has good reason to be cautious. He respects a warrior when he sees one, whether he shows it or not.”

Before you could inquire him what he meant by that, a deep hum reverberated in the room. You were surprised to discover it was Thorin. Balin merely smiled and bowed his head politely. “Excuse me.”

You raised your mug in farewell, and watched over the rim while you took a long sip as Thorin began to sing. Much to your surprise, he had a soothing voice as he sang quietly. It was as if he was a trance, memories flittering before him as his lips uttered the words. He was soon joined by the other Dwarves, coming together in a perfect harmony. They sang of the Misty Mountains; of their lost home in Erebor, and the memories of that fateful day when the dragon Smaug took it from them. It reminded of your own home; the days when there was peace and laughter, the days when you did not have you keep your sword tightly in your hand as you slept. The days when you were welcomed by your own kin.

Maybe Gandalf was right. Perhaps there was something more for you beyond the borders of the Shire; more than being the shunned Dúnedan among her own kin, unwanted and hated. You wondered if there was a place in this world where you belong. In truth, you did not know. A small glimmer of hope shined in your heart that there was such a place for you. Deciding to leave the Dwarves to their reminiscing, you rose from your seat and made your way into the hall that would lead you to the door. You were stepping outside of the room when Thorin’s voice halted you.

“We leave first thing in the morning. Do not be late.”

“I will be there,” you promised, and then you were out the door.


End file.
